


Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

by papersky_pencilstars



Series: The Pacific Rim AU [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies), The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:40:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26703835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papersky_pencilstars/pseuds/papersky_pencilstars
Summary: When Merriel "Snafu" Shelton loses his best friend and co-pilot in a ferocious Kaiju attack, he never wants to set foot in a Jaeger again, but their enemy is getting bolder, the pilots are getting desperate; and no one goes home until the fight is over.
Relationships: Merriell "Snafu" Shelton & Eugene Sledge, R. V. Burgin & Jay De L'Eau & Bill Leyden & Merriell "Snafu" Shelton & Eugene Sledge
Series: The Pacific Rim AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943311
Comments: 10
Kudos: 8
Collections: Genuary 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn’t expect to walk into the tent he shares with Burgie and Jay and find a ghost waiting for him.

_Eastern Reconnaissance Squadron_

_Okinawa, March 1943_

It’s freezing cold in his mind. In his dreams Snafu reaches out for another’s thoughts and finds only a vast, howling emptiness. He shies away from it, not liking the exposure, and can’t quite get away. It’s like there’s a hole torn in his brain, the edges jagged and sharp. He wakes sporadically, sometimes aware enough of his surroundings to know that he’s in the med bay back at base camp. He has no idea how he got back here, doesn’t care much either way. There’s only one thing he’s sure of in spite of the cold and the pain med induced haze. 

Hamm is dead. 

When he wakes up enough to know where he is Jay is there, sitting on a camp chair next to the cot. He helps Snafu sit up and props pillows underneath him, Snafu is still shaking from the cold and his right arm is tied to his side, so Jay lights two cigarettes and sticks one in his mouth for him. They sit in silence while Jay flips through the pages of a battered old paperback pretending to read and Snafu hears over and over the scream of rending metal, the howling of the empty sky. 

Jay’s gone the next time he resurfaces, but Burgie is there instead. Dimly he wonders if they’re taking turns watching over him and can’t find the strength to tell them not to bother. The doctors come in and talk to him in a low voice as they run tests. The cold is still there, Snafu’s head aches from the shivering. Apparently it’s a side effect of being ripped out of the drift, a symptom of feeling somebody die. They treat him for hypothermia and shoot more tranquilizers into his IV bag. 

Snafu waits until they’ve left then rips the needle out of his arm. When he turns Burgie’s watching him, head cocked to one side. “You gonna call them back in?,” He snarls and Burgie shakes his head. 

“Are you breaking out of med bay?,” He asks in a mildly curious tone, as if he’s caught Snafu cutting holes in his shoes again. 

“Not likely with this arm,” Snafu mutters, he curls forward and rests his forehead against his bent knees. “Hamm’s dead, isn’t he.” 

Burgie doesn’t say anything, but his hand grips Snafu’s shoulder and stays there. 

  
  


They release him from med bay about a week after on light duty. Be careful of the shoulder, do the exercises Doc recommended et voilà; you’re walking wounded. Snafu thinks he’s going to be relieved to be out, at least now he’ll have something to do besides lie there and think all day. He doesn’t expect to walk into the tent he shares with Burgie and Jay and find a ghost waiting for him. 

Hamm’s bunk is still made up as he left it the day they went out on patrol. His mess kit, his shaving blade, and the rest of his gear are stowed neatly away beneath it. Snafu approaches the bed cautiously, like it’s a wounded animal about to attack him, and reaches under the pillow; as he expected Hamm’s flight jacket is wadded beneath it. 

The jacket trembles in Snafu’s hand; for a moment he wants to hurl it against the wall, set it all on fire and never have to think about Hamm again. He winds the thick material around his fists, presses it to his face. The oil coated material is rough against his skin, and it smells like Hamm, like the tide pools out on the rocky outcrops on the east end of the island, like fire and flying. He doesn’t know where they take the rest of Hamm’s belongings when they come to remove them, but the jacket goes into Snafu’s footlocker, carefully wrapped in his old rain poncho. 

  
  


There’s no shortage of tasks at an outpost so close to the Pacific Rift even for a maimed Jaeger pilot. Snafu takes his turn at the sentry posts, and pulls overnight shifts in radar surveillance, scanning the ocean for any signs of approaching Kaiju. He rather learns to like the women manning the station with him. They’re too busy with their own duties to expect him to talk, but when someone goes on a coffee run a steaming hot cup always finds its way onto his station as well.

Most nights there’s nothing, some nights they send signals to Hunter Squadrons at bases in the Solomons, Jakarta, Alaska - all around the Pacific - to scramble to meet an oncoming threat. It’s a different perspective of the war than one Snafu had before from the controls of a Jaeger. He’s beginning to see how the larger picture comes together, and one thing is clear: The Jaeger pilots are losing. He sees it when he watches a hunter squadron limping back to base with some of their number missing, and when he watches the same exhausted pilots scramble again night after night as the Kaiju throw everything they’ve got at a particular area. 

Even with the help of the Japanese and Russian squadrons they’re losing pilots faster than they can train new ones. An experienced Jaeger pilot is too valuable to leave in a radar tower for long, and Snafu knows it’s only a matter of time before they make him start testing with the spares, trying to find him another co-pilot. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he told them they might send him home, but something stops him. Maybe it’s the sight of the contrails of the reconnaissance Jaegers marking the brilliant blue sky above the base, maybe it’s the feeling he’s not quite finished yet.

_Eastern Reconnaissance Squadron_

_Okinawa, April 1943_

Snafu watches the replacements offload from their transport and tries not to remember how not so long ago that was him and Hamm, blinking in the beating sunlight, unsteady on legs cramped from the long flight out. He doesn’t want to think about how much he still has in common with the boys down on the beach. 

“Shit, look at ‘em all.” Burgie murmurs next to him, “Think we ever were that clueless?,” 

“Burg, even you can’t possibly imagine you’ve outgrown being clueless.” Jay says, sitting with his legs dangling over the balcony. 

“Oh yeah, how would you know?”

“I spend half the time stuck in your brain, asshole.” 

“Bet you wish you were me.” 

Snafu tunes out their bickering, turning away to light a cigarette so his body hides the way his hands shake. The trembling has become a near constant now, sometimes barely noticeable, other times so bad he has to sit with his head between his knees and wait for it to stop. He fears the shaking might be permanent, neurological damage from the drift rupturing while he was still in it. If he told them they might send him home, but something stops him. Maybe it’s the sight of the contrails of the reconnaissance Jaegers marking the brilliant blue sky above the base, maybe it’s the feeling he’s not quite finished yet. 

The cold only comes in dreams now, when he’s falling again and the sky is empty and desolate around him and he can feel over and over his mind being ripped in half. He wakes up shaking from those dreams, gasping into his pillow so he doesn’t wake up the others, and more alone than he’s ever been.

“They say when you’re getting a new co-pie?,” base slang for co-pilot. They’re both looking at him expectantly, and Snafu realizes he missed their question the first time. He shrugs, drags his cigarette down to a glowing stump. 

“Skip wants me on the sparring grounds 0800, that can only mean one thing.” 

“Yeah, well don’t grind ‘em up into dog meat the day after they’ve landed.” Burgie shifts from one foot to the other and jerks his head at Jay, “We’ve got a mission,” he says half-apologetically to Snafu and they’re both off, leaving him to watch the spares unloading their equipment down by the beach. 

He stays long enough to see Iron Maid circle low and lazy over the camp then head west, skimming over waves lit by the setting sun. Then he goes to the radar tower and begs one of the girls’ shifts off her. Better a sleepless night spent listening to static crackle in his headset, at least then he’ll know when Burgie and Jay get back to base. 

  
  


The spares are already lined up against the wall of the sparring room when Snafu slips in. There aren’t many, maybe a handful. They stand to attention when they see him, which Snafu might find funny in other circumstances. 

“At ease.” Captain Haldane, the K company skipper, says in his quiet voice, he has no problem being heard despite his low tones. “This isn’t basic training anymore, you’re all fully qualified Jaeger pilots. This is a chance for us to get a sense of who you are, where you’re best placed.” 

They watch him wide-eyed until Lieutenant Jones, Eddie, raps out, “Staff drill formation, sets of three!” And they stumble to obey. 

Snafu suspects they’re a bit starstruck. Even back on the mainland Andrew, Ack-ack, Haldane and Edward, Eddie, Jones are famous, one of the first Jaeger teams to pioneer the aerial reconnaissance project. Their mission record is unparalleled, ten kills for ten strike missions, hundreds of hours of recon. They’re some of those pilots who seem to still be in the drift with each other even outside of a Jaeger. 

Ack-ack signals for Snafu to join them as the replacements arrange themselves in groups of three; two of them hold a sparring stick, the third stands empty-handed. They circle each other in a half crouch balancing on the balls of their feet, muscles coiled like springs waiting to be unlocked. Snafu finds himself watching the trio closest to him, a sun-tanned, brown haired recruit, a short blond guy built like a boxer, and a slight kid about Snafu’s own height with hair red as the setting sun. They move like they can anticipate each other’s actions, flowing smoothly from attack to block, staffs never staying in the same hands for long, allegiances changing every few beats. 

“They’re well trained, you’ve got to give them that,” there’s a tinge of amusement beneath Andy’s observation, “now let’s see how much they’ve learned.” 

At a barked command from Jones they fragment and come to a broken halt, eyes uncertainly on each other. 

“You heard me!” Eddie barks, “reform groups.” 

Hesitantly they consolidate into new groups of three and start the drill again, movements slower, attacks more tentative. There’s a good deal more feinting than before as sparring partners test each others’ reflexes and beats. He understands what Eddie’s trying to do; the replacements are clearly used to splitting into the same groups who know each other’s combat styles and for whom the drill is almost a choreographed dance, but drift compatibility is more about a communal give and take, an unspoken conversation. By forcing them to drill with unfamiliar fighters their commanders will get a better sense of those who has the ability to watch, listen, and fit themselves into another’s patterns. 

Snafu finds his gaze drawn to the redhead again, facing off against a replacement with curly hair. He’s too tense, too worried about being hit to commit to a dialogue, his staff lashing out at every hint of a strike from his opponent. As if he hears Snafu’s thoughts the redhead eases back slightly, and Snafu can see his shoulders rise and loosen as he takes a steadying breath. They manage to get a good rhythm going before he hands off the staff to the third in their group with barely a stumble. 

Snafu decides he’s seen enough for one day and slips out before Andy and Eddie can notice he’s gone. He’s sure he won’t be drift compatible with any of them, doesn’t want to be, because none of them are Hamm. 

He ends up at the repair docks down at the other end of camp. There’s a team of mechanics and engineers swarming over them, welding valves and reinforcing weak spots, testing radiation shields. His eyes run mechanically over the Jaegers until he reaches the dry dock at the furthest end and his mind stutters to a halt. Femme Fatale stands caged in scaffolding so they can work on her. They’ve done their work well; there’s almost no sign of the jagged hole where the Kaiju tore her heart out. They must have salvaged her somewhere in the Pacific after he bailed. 

Snafu finds himself walking closer as if in a dream. Like all reconnaissance Jaegers she’s small and light, made for speed and maneuverability - and flight. He runs a hand reverently along her wing, allows himself to imagine the reverberation of the twin jet engines, the hiss of the coolant hitting the reactor. 

“Hey, you can’t stand here.” A voice startles him from his reverie and he steps back, leaving Femme Fatale alone once more. The speaker is a woman in mechanic’s overalls with a sergeant’s stripes on her sleeve, pretty in a classic movie star kind of way. Snafu recognizes her from the radar tower. She’s friends with some of the radio operators and is often in to check the placement of the receiver dishes. She’s unaware or else coolly indifferent to the streak of machine oil running across her temple and into her hair. 

“We’re working up there, you could get something dropped on you.” She sees she doesn’t properly have his attention, “It’s dangerous to be so close to a Jaeger.” 

He bares his teeth in a death’s head approximation of a grin, “Guess that’s why I like her.” 

She peers closer at him, really looking at him for the first time, “You’re the pilot.” 

“One of them.” He stares at her, daring her to ask some dumb question that will give him an excuse to bite her head off and end the conversation. 

Her face softens, but it’s alright because her attention is on Femme and not on him. Her hand comes up to trace where Snafu’s fingers were just on the Jaeger’s wing. “She’ll be flying soon,” she promises. “We just programmed her neuropathways this morning.” 

Snafu nods, his words are stuck in his throat. Femme Fatale might fly again, but he’s not at all sure he wants to be in her when she does, not sure he belongs there without Hamm. “Take good care of her,” he manages, and turns away before she can see his face.

She calls after him, “I’m Lena- Lena Riggi.” 

There’s another unwelcome surprise when he gets back to their tent; the empty beds they use as extra storage have been filled. Burgie throws him a commiserating glance as he enters and goes still at the sight of them. It’s the trio he marked at the morning drills, the redhead has claimed Hamm’s old bunk for his own and his eyes follow Snafu nervously as he stalks to his own bunk and squats to pull his footlocker from under it. He wonders how much they’ve been told and how much they’ve put together for themselves. Judging by how the rumor mill works it’s probably all wrong anyway. 

That night he dreams he's flying with Hamm again. He knows it’s a dream because it’s night and they’re flying through a field of stars. The earth is sprawled beneath them and instead of the ocean with its lurking monsters there are fields rolling away as far as the eye can see, laid bare to a Jaeger pilot’s enhanced senses. It’s not a bad dream, there’s no sudden tearing of flesh and metal, no falling, and no cold, but when he wakes up his cheeks are wet. Snafu eases out of his blankets and heads into the cool night. 

To his annoyance there’s already someone out there; the kid in Hamm’s bunk sitting with his knees gathered to his chest. For a moment Snafu considers creeping back inside, then something makes him lower himself to the ground next to the redhead. 

“Can’t sleep?,” He asks, and the kid starts in surprise as if he was somewhere far away in his thoughts. Lucky him. 

“Strange place,” he shrugs, “I can never sleep the first night somewhere new.” 

Snafu nods and tries to light a smoke, curses when he fumbles the lighter and it falls somewhere in the dark at his feet. The kid gets there before he can and holds it so Snafu can light his cigarette. He grunts his thanks and offers him one from his pack. 

“I don’t smoke,” he says, then adds almost apologetically, “sir, is it ok if I ask you something?” 

“The officers are sir,” Snafu says, “and only when they’re giving orders. Didn’t they teach you that in training?” 

“I guess. I’m Sledge, Eugene Sledge.” 

“Sledge,” Snafu takes a drag on his cigarette, “people call me Snafu.” He’s not sure when he started introducing himself by that nickname, it would be strange to change it now. “I’m guessing you’re drift compatible with one of the other two.” 

Sledge grimaces, “With Leyden, but Oswald and Leyden got the higher scores in the sims so they’re paired up and I’m the spare.” 

“Best to keep your head your own for as long as you can, kid.” Snafu drawls, he looks at his hands, sees the glowing end of the cigarette wavering in the dark. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” 

“Is that what you thought before you lost your co-pilot?” Sledge shoots back, then claps his mouth shut. Snafu can hear his sharp intake of breath as if he wants to suck the words back into his mouth. For a moment he considers punching him, but he actually kind of appreciates Sledge’s directness, it makes him realize how much everyone at base has been walking on eggshells around him. 

“I’m- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” Sledge stumbles out an apology

“You can feel invincible, up there in the sky in a Jaeger,” Snafu takes another drag on his cigarette, stares at the dark bulk of the control tower blotting out the stars, “like nothing can touch you, like the whole sky is yours and you’re free to go anywhere. But that freedom is an illusion, we hunt monsters who are faster and more powerful than us, and in the end the monsters win.” 

Sledge shivers, “How long has it been since you came out here?” 

“Five years give or take.” 

He swears softly, “Don’t you ever want to go home?,” 

“Ain't none of us going home, kid.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, thank you. Femme’s a part of me just like–” he fights against something constricting in his throat, “like Hamm was. If I have to fly again, I’d rather it be in her. At least she knows me.”

_Eastern Reconnaissance Squadron_

_Okinawa, May 1943_

They start Jaeger test runs with the new pilots the next day. Their weapon systems have been taken offline and their engines have been throttled to less than half their usual power for safety, but it’s still a huge step to take so soon. Snafu isn’t really surprised, he knows better than anyone what their casualty rates have been over this dismal spring. They need new Jaeger teams, fast. 

He’s ordered to attend the test runs with Haldane and Jones, which surprises him. He hadn’t thought they’d chosen any potential candidates for his co-pilot and it’s not like there’s much he can offer in the way of expertise. They greet him quietly and turn their attention back to the first team of co-pilots who are shimmying into their pilot suits and making last minute preparations. It’s Oswald and Leyden, Sledge hovers around them like a satellite. He doesn’t look jealous that they’ll be the first replacements in a proper Jaeger as he helps them with their gear and cracks jokes with them. He catches Snafu’s eye and cracks him a one-sided smile so quick that Snafu doesn’t think anyone else sees it. He stares back stonily, just because they had a midnight conversation doesn’t mean they’re buddies now. 

“What do you think, Shelton?,” Captain Haldane asks him quietly as they watch Oswald boost Leyden into the cockpit of the Jaeger then accept a hand up himself. Admittedly, it’s a pretty smooth trick although they could just use the hand and footholds set in the Jaeger’s side. It’s a strike Jaeger, humanoid, built for close contact kills. Sledge gives them a mock salute and steps back to join the other replacements at a safe distance. 

“They were some of the best at the drill yesterday, they should do well.” Snafu says, although he knows that’s not what Andy’s asking. He can tell they’re exchanging a look over the top of his head. 

“How about for your own co-pilot? Seen anyone likely?” 

Well, he’s only seen them do one drill and not sparred with anyone so how is he supposed to answer that? “I need some more time to make up my mind, sir.” He says, and Andy sighs. 

“Shelton I know what this is doing to you, but we need you out there, not back at camp looking at a screen.” 

“Seems to me you have more than enough teams to fill the Jaegers without throwing me back in the meat grinder.” The words bordering on insubordination are out of his mouth before he has the chance to control them, but if Andy’s exasperated he gives little sign. 

“It’s not just a case of bodies in cockpits, it’s the experience we’ve lost that’s going to hurt in the coming year. We don’t have enough veterans to show them things you could never learn in a sim; how to read a Kaiju’s presence in the roil of the ocean waves, how to disengage from a fight you can’t win - how to _survive_. You think the last few weeks have been bad, what do you think will happen if we send out a whole wing of rookie pilots without even an experienced squadron leader?” 

He play his last card for time, “The mechanics down at the repair hangar said Femme’s almost ready to fly again. Can I have until then to give you my pick?” 

“We kind of thought you’d want a different Jaeger considering what happened.” Lieutenant Jones says, “We’d be willing to trade you out.” 

Snafu takes a deep breath, shakes his head, “No, thank you. Femme’s a part of me just like–” he fights against something constricting in his throat, “like Hamm was. If I have to fly again, I’d rather it be in her. At least she knows me.” 

“We understand.” Captain Haldane says, and Snafu can’t help feeling he’s gained their approval somehow.

Oswald and Leyden successfully start the neural handshake and the Jaeger powers up. Snafu watches them go through a set of exercises and drills Eddie calls out to them over the comms. It makes the Jaeger, one of the humanoid face-punching models, look like it’s a senior citizen attending an underwater aerobics class. His suspicion that the exercises are chosen for comedic value is solidified when Eddie tells them to do high kicks with a completely straight face. They manage to do a few without falling over though, which definitely counts in their favor. They’re just about to switch teams when the explosion sends everyone sprawling. 

  
  


For a moment everything’s topsy turvy, there’s dust in his eyes and his ears are ringing so he can’t hear anything. Then the world collects itself around him again and he can sit up. To his left Andy and Eddie are in a pile, if he had to judge he’d say they probably tried to tackle each other to the ground. He thinks he might have bitten his tongue, he spits blood out of his mouth and stands unsteadily, freezes as he sees the source of the explosion that knocked them all off their feet. 

A cloud of oily black smoke billows up from the repair docks. Already sirens are blaring all across camp and personnel are running towards the inferno. Down below, the replacements are a mess of tangled limbs and panicked shouts. The only thing still upright is the training Jaeger with Leyden and Oswald in it. It turns slowly and lumbers clumsily towards the fire. Out of the corner of his eye Snafu sees a blur of red hair and green uniform sprint after them. Without thinking, he follows Sledge. 

The blaze is too intense to get within fifty feet, a window shatters in the second floor and flames lick out of it. The Jaeger doesn’t stop, just barges through the hangar door. It’s surprisingly quick thinking for two novice pilots, a fighter like this model doesn’t have to worry about a raging fire or about buildings crushing them. Snafu stands next to Sledge and they stand side by side, Sledge is barely breathing as he watches where the flames engulfed his friends. 

Snafu pivots, unable to stand still, and sees a group of radar operators and radio specialists huddled around a wireless set. One of them is twisting the radio dial while another holds the headset up to her ear, they look up as he approaches. 

“We’re trying to make contact but the hailing frequency’s jammed.” The wireless operator says breathlessly, “You know what their key frequency is?,” 

“There are still workers trapped in there,” a woman in burnt overalls hugs her arms tightly about herself as she speaks and Snafu recognizes Lena, the sergeant who was working on Femme yesterday. One of the radar operators shrugs out of her own uniform jacket and drapes it around her shoulders. Snafu steps in front of her to get her attention. 

“Comms probably aren’t hooked up, they were in the middle of a training exercise. Where are the workers?” 

“Way in the back, bay farthest from the door.” She shivers as she speaks, her eyes already staring at ghosts. For a moment Snafu wants to tell her everything will be okay, but it doesn’t seem right to lie to her. Then there’s a crash that has them all whirling towards the hangar again. 

The Jaeger emerges holding a piece of scaffolding in its hands like a person balancing an overloaded mess tray. Several figures are sprawled on it, clinging for dear life as the Jaeger sets it down a safe distance away. Lena glances over them and her lips tighten, she meets Snafu’s eyes and shakes her head. Her friend is not on the platform. Snafu runs around to the front of the Jaeger, waving to get the pilots’ attention. He uses hand signs they all learned in basic to communicate how many people are left and their probable whereabouts. The Jaeger stacks two fists on top of each other in acknowledgment and strides once more into the hangar. 

The wait is unbearable. Sledge is on his left and Lena is on his other side, neither of them taking their eyes off the doorway. The fire is so intense now that they have to shield their faces with their arms. A medical team is giving the rest of the survivors first aid nearby and loading them onto stretchers. 

“What happened?” Snafu asks Lena, “Tell me a reactor didn’t go into meltdown.” 

“If it was a reactor meltdown there wouldn’t be a camp left. Best I can tell a spark got in hydrogen tanks from the welders–” her explanation turns into a cry of dismay as with an awful groan the structure collapses in on itself. 

Snafu stares at the tortured tangle of iron support girders, willing himself to see a sign of movement. A roof falling on it is no match for a Jaeger. Lena sobs once and quickly stifles herself with a hand over her mouth. Snafu turns to her, but is quickly distracted. Sledge is no longer at his side, instead he’s sprinting towards the wreckage. Snafu catches up with him and grabs him by the shoulder, spinning him around. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

Sledge grips his wrists, trying to throw him off. “Get off me!” 

“You’ll only kill yourself, they’re in a Jaeger you’re not.” 

“My friends are in there,” Sledge can barely control his voice, “let me go!” 

“Alright, fine.” Snafu drops his sleeve and brushes past him, “Come on.” 

“You’re not going!” 

“I know my way around in there,” he decides to ignore the fact that there’s likely little that’s still recognizable. He’s beginning to get a grim idea of what might have gone wrong in there to make the Jaeger not reemerge. If he’s right Leyden and Oswald don’t have a lot of time. He runs towards what remains of the building and Sledge is right behind him. 

Instead of going to the main entrance, which looks impossible to get through anyway, Snafu skirts around the edge of the building. He guesses that the Jaeger must have gotten to the back where Femme Fatale’s dock is before the roof fell on them. His shoes crunch shards of glass and he dodges piles of debris and slicks of oil as he runs. The destruction isn’t complete, the starboard side of the hangar where the repair docks are lined up is still standing, he guesses the Jaegers there are holding up the structure from completely collapsing. He hopes that’s a good sign for Sledge’s friends and whoever else is trapped in there. 

He spots a personnel door with it’s frame sagging. The door itself is twisted halfway off its hinges, but it’s an entry point. He ducks through and immediately starts coughing, the smoke inside is so thick it’s unbearable, he can barely see anything beyond the reach of his arm. Something tackles him from behind, forces him down onto his knees. The smoke’s less dense down closer to the ground and it’s possible to breathe again. He gropes behind him, finds Sledge’s shoulder and squeezes it in gratitude. 

They belly crawl forward, groping for a path through the twisted structure, sometimes doubling back when they can’t get through. Luckily the fire isn’t too close to them, but he can hear it crackling and spitting somewhere off to their right, its many voices filled with malice. 

“Over there.” Sledge grabs his boot and shakes it, and points. Snafu sees what he’s looking at; the colossal form of a Jaeger curled up on its side. Before he can do anything Sledge is halfway to his feet, running crouched towards it. The Jaeger’s reactor glows dimly, bathing their surroundings in cold blue light, but the signal lights and control panels are all dead and there’s no sign of life from the cockpit. A girder beam lies diagonally across the robot’s neck, but it’s difficult to say if that’s what knocked it down, or if it was already down.

He tries to follow, and trips over something soft lying on the ground in the curve of the Jaeger’s waist. He makes out the shape of a human body, probably whoever they were trying to rescue when they were overwhelmed. He bends down and pinches hard right at the spot where shoulder meets neck. There’s no response, but he can find a pulse and breathing - good enough for now, he goes to see about the two pilots. Sledge is beating on the glass of the cockpit. 

“I can’t get in,” he grunts, “they have to open it from the inside but they’re not responding.” 

Snafu shoves him aside and gets to work with his belt knife. The neural control center is the most heavily reinforced part of a Jaeger, but there’s always a way to work your way in if you have the tools for it. A belt knife is not the tools for it, but it’s all he’s got. He tells Sledge his theory as he fumbles with it, “Life support systems usually aren’t online for training protocols. Air filtration system wasn’t working, they probably got overwhelmed by the smoke.” The fire is growing closer now, its crackling rising steadily to a dull roar. Snafu can feel the hair on his arms crisping from the heat. “We’re running out of time,” he gasps, fingers prying at the unreachable latch. 

“I’m not leaving my friends in here.” Sledge snarls. 

“I know.” Snafu lets his head hang between his shoulders and fights the urge to gulp for air. It will do more harm than good with all the smoke- “Dammit!” Metal shrieks and steel groans overhead; the roof is about to give out above them. 

“I’ve got movement inside!” Sledge presses himself up against the window and is sent sprawling as it punches open. Snafu barely manages to move aside himself, and Leyden climbs out. His hair is matted with blood on one side and he has rings of soot around his eyes like a raccoon, but other than that he seems ok. 

Sledge drags him out and hugs him one-armed around the head. “What was that about, not giving us any sign?” His expression is angry, but the relief in his voice is clear. “Oswald?” 

Leyden shakes him off, doesn’t seem to register their presence at first, then his eyes focus on Sledge, “Trapped in his harness.” 

Snafu pushes past them and climbs into the cockpit. It’s dark inside, away from the reactor glow and he has to fumble his way forward toward the sounds of struggling. He puts out his hand and finds a body, and almost grins at the yelp that comes. 

“Stop wiggling around for a second,” he says, starting to feel for the harness straps “let’s get you down.” A few seconds later Sledge appears beside him and together they manage to lower Oswald to the ground without dumping him on his head. He sags between them, seeming to rely more on their shoulders under his arms than on his own balance to keep his feet. 

“Give me a sec,” he pants, “head’s spinning.” 

“You’ve got it.” Sledge says encouragingly, but another crash above them tells Snafu otherwise. 

“We’ve gotta get out of here,” he says, trying not to cough - the smoke is worse than it ever was before. 

Leyden is crouched protectively over the body of the mechanic when they appear out of the cockpit. He glances up as they climb down and his eyes meet Oswald’s. 

Snafu looks away, he knows that look, the look of two people who have just shared thoughts and memories and soul. Given what they’ve just accomplished, the bond formed is probably stronger than after most first time training runs. If they survive this, they’ll have to figure out how to navigate the newfound connection. That period of adjustment isn’t something they really prepare you for during training.

“Beams came down the way you guys got in,” Leyden tells them, “we’re trapped unless we can find a way to get the Jaeger powered up again.” 

“I don’t understand what happened,” Oswald says, shaking his head, “One minute it was fine, next the neural connection broke and we lost all motor control. Can we reboot it?” 

Snafu thinks back on the lightless control room, “Jaeger’s dead, even if nothing’s damaged it’ll take too long before it’s online again. My best guess is smoke inhalation, it only takes a bit to compromise neural faculties enough to lose the drift.” 

Sledge kicks at the side of the fallen Jaeger and sinks to a crouch, his head between his arms. His expression is almost feral when he lifts his head, his gaze burning. 

“I am _not_ dying here.” There’s something in his voice and the weight of his stare that sets Snafu back to the day of the Kaiju attack, only this time the memories aren’t of loss and falling through an empty sky. They’re of lungs burning, of clawing up through cold water towards the light. Of the absolute refusal to give up, to sink back into the dark cradle of the ocean’s embrace. Looking at Sledge now, Snafu sees the same burning desire to keep living that drove him upwards. 

“We won’t die here,” he promises, “we have to get to Femme.”

Sledge and Snafu are still more steady on their feet than Leyden and Oswald so they half drag, half carry the mechanic between them. Burning insulation falls around them, burning the unprotected backs of necks and singeing holes in their uniforms. It takes all four of them to hoist his dead weight into Femme’s cockpit. It’s a squeeze to get all five of them in, even with Oswald and Leyden making themselves as small as possible against the walls. Two cranial input bands dangle on wires from the ceiling. According to Lena, they should be functional. 

“Now what?,” Leyden’s voice is raspy with smoke, “This one’s as dead as the other.” 

“Not quite,” Snafu’s already reaching up to unscrew the metal plate that protects the Jaeger’s wiring, “see, I know this one.” 

At the moment, it’s simple to be back in Femme. If he let’s himself think about what happened the last time he flew in her he wouldn’t be able to do what he has to do, so he doesn’t let himself think about it. It takes him until he drops the screwdriver for the second time to realize he won’t be able to do it anyway. His hands are trembling so badly they’ll never be able to perform the delicate movements he requires. 

“Sledge, on me.” He says as the last of the screws drops away and he catches the panel as it slides away. Sledge is beside him in an instant. 

“What do you need?” 

Snafu holds up his hand to show him his jittery fingers. “I can’t do anything like this. I need you to be my hands. Don’t worry, I’ll be the eyes and brain.” 

A ghost of a smile touches Sledge’s mouth, “I’ve always wanted one of those. What are we doing?” 

“Ever hot-wire a car?” 

Of course Sledge with his gentle, upperclass upbringing has never done anything like that, but that trick has very little to do with what they’re trying in here anyway, and his touch his light and delicate on the wires as Snafu directs him on which wires to strip and which to splice together. The diciest moment comes when debris hits Femme’s outer hull and the whole Jaeger shakes like it’s about detach from its support scaffolding. 

Snafu grabs onto Sledge with one hand and the Jaeger with the other, bracing them both as the floor cants beneath them. 

“Whatever you’re doing there, hurry up!,” Leyden yells, covering his head with his arms, “We’re about to get smashed in this tin can.” 

“Working on it, Bill!” Sledge tells him through gritted teeth, “What’s the plan here?” He adds in a quieter aside to Snafu. 

Snafu directs him to connect the last two wires, and the cockpit flickers to life around them. Soft exclamations of surprise and wonder come from behind them. “We’re going to fly out of here.” 

“Who? Those two?” Sledge jerks his thumb back in their direction, but Snafu’s already shaking his head. 

“They won’t be able to form a drift at the moment.” He breathes in through his nose, touches the cranial band hanging to his right.  _ Sorry, Hamm _ . “It’s got to be you and me.” 

Sledge opens his mouth to argue and Snafu cuts him off. Femme Fatale’s tilting worse than ever, they’ve lost at least one support and who knows when the others will go. They’re out of time. “Look, we can do it, just - trust me.” 

Oswald and Leyden help them fit the cranial bands around their heads, Snafu grasps the pilot’s bar in front of him with sweat-slick palms. There’s no motor control suits so they’ll have to rely entirely on analog steering to guide Femme. It occurs to him to wonder if the same nerve damage that makes him unable to hold a cigarette will make him unable to control a Jaeger. Guess he should have asked about that before now.

He shows Oswald where to connect the wires to start the neural connection and flicks switches on the control panel, propellors on either side of them whirr to life. Immediately the whole Jaeger tilts, something shrieks along the outside and sparks shower down inside the cockpit. The vibrations from the idling Jaeger must be destabilizing the entire wall. There’s no time for a countdown. 

“Start neural handshake, now!” 

The neural input kicks in and his vision goes white for a split second. When it clears he’s in someone else’s memories. He feels hot, muggy air, a shirt stuck to his skin by sweat, hears gravel crunching under bike tires. He’s riding along a walkway lined with trees, and there’s moss hanging from the branches. He glimpses another young man, about Sledge’s age with blond hair and a crooked smile, experiences the surge of affection that Sledge must feel at the sight, before he forces himself to stop chasing the rabbit and listen for what his Jaeger is telling him instead. 

He can sense the power of her all around him and in his very bones, sleek and deadly like a bird of prey. She’s ready to take off. His mind grasps for the other pilot - grasps emptiness. Pain tears through him and he struggles to stay upright. He’s falling through empty space, nothing to grasp on to, nothing to orient himself on. He can hear Sledge screaming as if from far away, he must be feeling the same pain as Snafu, the last thing Hamm felt before he died.

It jolts him back just enough that he can stop his free-fall. His entire body is shaking now, trembling with cold and Snafu knows it’s only a matter of time before neural overload. “Come on,” he whispers, tightens his hands around the pilot bar. He can feel Sledge doing the same thing next to him. 

As one their minds send out the command to the Jaeger: _Fly_! 

The acceleration almost knocks him off his feet, then his balance shifts instinctively as the Jaeger tears free of the last supports and shoots upwards, towards the collapsing roof. Things knock into them, threatening to throw off their flight path, but somehow, miraculously they remain airborne. Then at last they break free and burst clear of the column of smoke roiling up from the hanger and the sky is blue, blue, blue. 

Femme Fatale staggers and rolls slightly in the air before they can recover. It’s taking all his concentration just to keep her steady. It’s so cold inside his mind, unprotected. He can’t feel Sledge anymore, is he still there? Or is he back over the Pacific fighting desperately for control of a dying Jaeger alone. 

“Snafu! Snaf!” Sledge’s voice breaks into his memories, “Don’t follow the rabbit.” He warns, and Snafu heaves in a shuddering breath, forces himself to see what’s in front of him _now_. 

They’re hovering unsteadily above the camp, on a flight path that’s taking them roughly past the control tower. Now that he’s listening to the sound of the engines, he doesn’t think Femme Fatale’s shakiness is entirely due to his piloting, there must have been repairs that still needed doing. They need to land this thing before they lose control or she tumbles out of the sky on her own. Sledge directs his attention to the training field they’d been using before the explosion, It’s evacuated now, the perfect landing spot. 

They bank sharply left, bringing them up around to aim for it. Femme teeters to one side. He can feel the effort Sledge’s putting in to hold them steady. Snafu can feel his own control slipping, can feel the emptiness encroaching on his consciousness. He does his best to guide them into the landing, _drop speed… pull the nose up slightly…hover…lose height._ He’s just thinking they might have made it out of this one when the Jaeger’s nose drops and they plummet. They’re still too high, and Snafu has just enough time to think they’re coming in too fast before they hit the ground and he’s thrown forwards into the pilot bar. Pain shoots through his chest and he blacks out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t know who I am without him.” He voices the admission in a whisper, because they tell you that’s what you're not supposed to do. You can’t go losing yourself in the drift like that.

_Eastern Reconnaissance Squadron_

_Okinawa, May 1943_

When he wakes up, joy of joys, he’s in the med bay again. For a moment he lies there, and tries to figure out why he can feel the world spinning at one thousand miles per hour or however fast school told them it turns. There’s something in his brain that feels off kilter, like he’s still flying a damaged Jaeger. Every movement feels like he’s commanding his body through a bad drift connection. His gaze drifts down, the bed across from him is occupied and he gropes for a name; Leyden, Sledge’s friend. He appears to be sleeping, a bandage wrapped around his head. A familiar voice breaks into Snafu’s thoughts.

“Sleeping beauty over there was awake and bellyaching an hour or so ago, you’re the last to wake up.” With a monumental effort Snafu turns his head to see Burgie. 

“How long?” He croaks through a tongue that feels twice as thick as it should be. 

“Two days.” Burgie says, “you two are the last in. Bill has a concussion, Oswald and Sledge got out with a bit of smoke inhalation. Damned lucky all of you,” he sits shaking his head for a minute, “did you know you’d be drift compatible when you ran in there?” He asks at last. 

“Had to improvise a bit.” There’s a pause while he tries to find the words, “Couldn’t let him go in there alone. How’s the other guy, the one we brought out?” 

Burgie’’s grimace tells him the truth before he can answer, “His injuries were too extensive,” he leans forward and puts a hand on Snafu’s knee on top of the blanket, “you still saved four people.” 

Snafu gives him a questioning look, because even if he’s groggy he’s just with it enough to know the math does not check out.

“You dragged yourself out of that hell, too.” 

He’s too tired to protest. 

It takes over a week for Sledge to visit him in the med bay. Snafu is trying to read one of the comic books Jay brought him, he can sit up now for short periods of time without his head feeling like it’s about to be flung into lower earth orbit, which is a definite improvement, if he balances the comics against his knees he can keep it steady enough he doesn’t lose his place every few lines.

“Hey.” Sledge says.

“About time.” Snafu doesn’t look up from his comic, but he’s very aware of Sledge’s every movement as he fidgets with his cuffs. 

“They had a ceremony with the brass today. Oswald and Bill got a pilot’s commission.” 

“Yeah? What’d they give you?” 

“Nothing. I didn’t want anything - Christ, can’t you even look at me?” Sledge finally erupts. He runs a hand jerkily through his reddish hair, “What are we supposed to do now?” 

The question is surprising enough to get Snafu to abandon his pretense at reading. He’s been expecting Sledge to assume they’re going to be co-pilots now. “What are you talking about?” 

Sledge sighs, “Look, I got a little bit about what happened with- the last time you went on patrol. I don’t know if I’d ever want to go in a Jaeger again if I experienced that.” 

“If we went into a Jaeger together it would be your baggage too,” Snafu reminds him, “that’s how the drift works. You felt his death, didn’t you? You need to be ok with that, and not just in a ‘I want to fly so I’ll do anything way’. Next time we both might get overwhelmed, the neural interface might fry.” 

“I could say I’d rather be in a support company.” Sledge slumps into the visitor’s chair, “How’d you even know we’d be drift compatible?” 

Snafu shrugs, “I didn’t, not until we were trapped with no other way out.”

“You didn’t want us to be, did you.” They’re both quiet a moment, both fumbling for the right words. It's Sledge who breaks the silence first, “I wouldn’t ever want to replace him.” 

“I don’t know who I am without him.” He voices the admission in a whisper, because they tell you that’s what you're not supposed to do. You can’t go losing yourself in the drift like that. “Losing someone like that, it’s like having your soul ripped wide open. Being back in the drift was like going through that all over again, but at the same time flying together was the thing we both loved, the thing that connected us. It’s like the only place he still exists is in the drift. I don’t want to forget what it was like to fly with him.” 

“He’s still a part of you, and not only in the drift.” Sledge hesitates and Snafu can tell he’s battling with himself, “What if I helped you remember?” 

“How would that work?” 

Sledge leans back in the chair and shoves his feet onto Snafu’s bed, they’re probably getting the sheets all dirty, but Snafu finds he doesn’t mind so much. 

“Tell me about him?” 


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her name is stenciled in black along her fuselage along with the names of her two co-pilots, Merriel Shelton and Eugene Sledge. Another name lies below theirs, Arthur Hamm (1920-1943). Even now Snafu’s old co-pilot is still flying with him.

_ Eastern Reconnaissance Squadron _

_ Okinawa, December 1943  _

Snafu sets the wheels of his chair on the ramp to the Femme’s dock and takes a breath, preparing his arms and shoulders for the strain of the climb. He’s still getting used to maneuvering around in a wheelchair, although it’s becoming more natural day by day. At least there’s ramps everywhere so he can come and go as he pleases. He can still walk with a cane for short distances, but nerve damage from flying a damaged Jaeger while he was still suffering from a drift rupture means it’s easier and more comfortable to use a wheelchair. 

Sledge is waiting for him in his pilot’s gear when he finally makes it to the top, ignoring Snafu in favor of admiring the Jaeger in front of them. Snafu has to admit she’s an impressive sight. After months of repairs first from the Kaiju attack and then from their crash landing, Femme Fatale is finally ready to fly again. She’s painted in rippling camouflage colors, cloud grey on her underbelly, dark blue on her back. Her name is stenciled in black along her fuselage along with the names of her two co-pilots, Merriel Shelton and Eugene Sledge. Another name lies below theirs, Arthur Hamm (1920-1943). Even now Snafu’s old co-pilot is still flying with him. 

There’s a special pilot’s seat set up for Snafu in the cockpit so he can pilot his part of the Jaeger comfortably, it turns out he’s not the first paraplegic Jaeger pilot ever. Sledge helps him transfer, then goes to secure the wheelchair where it can’t be blasted off the dock by their jet stream. Above them the bay doors open, leaving their path clear to the sky. 

They put on the cranial bands and wait for the voice over the comms, “Ready Pilot One? Ready Pilot Two?” 

“One ready,” Snafu says clearly, listens to Sledge confirm Two ready. 

“Prepare for neural handshake in 3…2…1” Snafu closes his eyes, waits for the drift to start up. Memories wash over him, his and Sledge’s alike. There’s an ache in his throat that he doesn’t think will ever fade as a memory of Hamm smiling, teasing Snafu about something or other plays in front of his eyes. It’s taken them these months to train his brain to do that, to replace the awful nightmare of him being torn away with these memories of him as he really was, alive and laughing in the sunlight. 

“Femme Fatale, Femme Fatale,” the voice comes through the comms again, “you are go for reconnaissance, sector Baker, 1800 hours. Iron Maid has your wing.” 

Obeying their combined thoughts, Femme’s engines roar to life and she unhitches from the dock. Snafu is pressed back into his seat by the acceleration as she shoots upwards out of the hanger. They reach cruising altitude and level out, tilting their wings and sweeping wide towards the west. At a command from Sledge the Jaeger’s sensors kick in, and the world suddenly becomes much, much wider and more vibrant as their senses are layered with input from the Jaeger. They can see miles below the waves, feel the tiniest vibrations on the ocean floor. 

He feels Sledge’s delight at the scene beneath them and lets his own contentment wash through the drift. The gaping space Hamm left behind won’t ever be truly healed; in some ways he’ll always be flying on crooked wings, but the sky he ventures into is no longer empty. 


End file.
